Love or Infatuation?
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: Shelly Marsh is lusted after by notorious bully Trent Boyette, but admired by the notoriously dorky Kevin McCormick. Meanwhile, Kenny empathizes with Ze Mole's crappy life. These two love stories are connected by covert operations, gritty fights of shovel on sub sandwich, perverted preps, twisted smurfs, Principal Dave Chappell's Sesame Street analogies, and a dark family secret.
1. Prologue

A/N: I wrote this story years ago, in high school. (I don't exactly recall when, but I presume it can be traced to around 2005 or 2006.) I am now updating this story, with better editing and minor changes.

I do not own "South Park" or "Star Wars".

**Love or Infatuation?**

**Prologue**

Nine-year-old Stan Marsh tore through the redneck mountain town of South Park, Colorado, painting and cursing under his breath. Not far behind him, with a lawnmower raised over her head like the Texas Chainsaw massacre, ran his tyrannical older sister Shelly.

"Get back here turd, I'm not finithed showing you how a flea fealth when you hit it with a fly thwater!"

Stan emitted a girlish scream, and pumped his legs faster.

_Oh f-ck, what do I do now _Stan panicked. _Where do I go—Kyle's house!_

He ran to his best friend's home, hit the doorbell over and over and pounded the door.

"KYLE, KYLE, HELP ME!"

Kyle slowly swung the door open. His green hat was almost falling off, and under his bloodshot eyes hung dark circles. Behind him, Stan could see his Canadian brother Ike, along with about twenty other Canadian toddlers. All of them were wearing party hats, throwing cake at the wall, and playing games, all while screaming and yapping their flapping Canadian heads off.

"Dude Stan, what's up?" Kyle sighed, exhausted.

"DUDE! Let me in, my sister's gonna kill me!"

"I can't, dude. I have to baby-sit my brother's birthday party, and my mom said if I have any friends over she'll give me a second circumcision!"

There was the groan of a lawnmower starting up from a house or two down.

"_I'm coming for you, TURD_!"

Stan hollered and bolted. The next person he could think of to run to was Eric Cartman.

Stan was halfway to Fatass's house when he screeched to a halt.

"Wait a minute, what the hell am I _doing?_"

Stan turned away and headed for friend #3; Kenny McCormick.

Poor Kenny was, well, poor. He also had that bad habit of getting killed off every other week. But Stan also knew that underneath that orange hood was a funny, brave, and caring friend. Especially that time he went to Hell to save them all from Saddam Hussein and the Devil. Now that Stan thought of it, maybe he and Kyle should thank him for that again, and maybe help him out the next time Cartman started singing about Kenny's family living in old TV boxes.

Stan pounded Kenny's door.

"KENNY HELP! SHELLY'S GONNA KILL ME WITH A LAWN MOWER!"

"Mff Muff, mff muffle!" Kenny threw open the door before Stan was finished claiming sanctuary. Stan rushed inside, slammed the door behind him, and locked it. (The lock fell off a second later with a muffled creak.)

Neither of Kenny's parents was home. The only other person besides the two fourth graders was Kevin—Kenny's older, filthier, and much, much stupider brother. The pre-teen was sitting on the torn sofa munching cold waffles, his eyes stuck on the fuzzy, black-and-white TV.

"_And now, back to Star Wars: A New Hope! Provided in part by Terrance and Phillip."_

Terrance and Phillip farted the Imperial March as the advertisement went on. Then it cut back to the actual movie. The wall behind Kevin light up and laser blasts _spew_ed from the TV. He took no notice of Stan or his brother.

"_Somebody has to save our skins!" _Princess Leia shouted. "_Into the garbage shoot, flyboy!_"

"Kick ass!" Kevin cheered, waving his half-eaten waffle over his head. "Too bad real girls can't kick ass like that, cuz Paris Hilton turned 'em all into p-ssy little whores."

_**BANG!**_

Shelly stood on top of the busted-down door, gripping her lawnmower like a military machine gun.

"_Fee_…" She stomped forward. "_Fai_…" the old door crunched under her feet. "_Fo…fum…I smell the blood of a TUUURD!_"

Coughing, Stan squeezed out from under the door and tried to hide behind Kenny. Shelly knocked Kenny out of her way with her mower ("Muff!") and started smashing Stan into the floor, ignoring his pleas of, "Please Shell, I didn't mean to scratch any of your Brittany Spears records or make fun of your head gear!"

Kevin, forgetting completely about the Death Star battle, had been watching the strange girl killing her brother while half-consciously nibbling his waffle. Now he stood up, picked up the TV (now playing the X-Wing scene). Kenny, distracted watching Shelly smash Stan, didn't notice his brother walking up behind him with the TV. Holding the TV awkwardly, Kevin began smashing his own little brother with it.

"No no," Shelly corrected him. "You haf to hold it higher aboth your head, like this." she demonstrated on Stan ("Aaaaa!")

"Oh, OK." Kevin followed her example ("Mfff!")

Shelly and Kevin continued bashing, occasionally looking back at each other and laughing. Within minutes both Kenny and Stan were bloody corpses being dragged away by rodents.

Back at the Brofloski house, Kyle heard screaming and looked out his window. He somehow managed to witness the whole murder, through a tiny plastic telescope from a cereal box.

"Oh my god," he lowed his 'scope, "They killed Kenny AND Stan! You bastards!" he shook his fist.

Then, suddenly remembering that there were 21 children in the room, Kyle gasped and covered his mouth. But it was too late. Ike and his friends were now repeating the word "bastard!" excitingly, at the top of their lungs.

"Oh f-ck on a stick." Kyle muttered as his parents' car pulled into the driveway.

Meanwhile, Kevin and Shelly put their weapons down and looked up at each other nervously.

"I'm Thelly," Shelly said shyly. "Uh, what's your name?"

"Wha? 24?" Kevin shook his blond head. "I mean—I think it's Kevin."

They exchanged glances for a few more seconds. Then they were on the old couch, kissing and making out. The pre-teens were still being naughty when Chef popped his head through the broken doorway to add to the mood.

"_I'm gonna make sweet love ta ya wo-man…_"


	2. Four Years Later

Disclaimer: If I owned South Park, it wouldn't have met the same sad fate as Spongebob, Family Guy.

**Chapter 1: Four Years Later**

"_RISE AND SHINE SOUTH PARK! IT'S 5:00 A.M. AND ANOTHER __**SUPER**__ FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! THAT'S RIGHT, NINE MORE MONTHS OFWRITING ESSAYS, SLUGGING THROUGH ALGEBRA, AND NEVER GETTING LAID! AND DON'T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT HITTING THAT SNOOZE BUTTON, 'CUZ YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY, YOU SNOOZE YOU LOOSE! —"_

_Crunch!_

Shelly Marsh tossed the remains of her radio alarm clock into the tall pile of shattered alarm clocks in the corner of her room, not interested in hearing what Big Gay Al's Big Gay Radio Show had to say today.

The sixteen-year-old showered and got dressed for school, throwing on her blue Russell Crow shirt (which depicted the anger-prone star punching out one of his own studio workers). She looked quite just as she had at age twelve, with mouse-brown hair and a somewhat muscular build, but she no longer wore her headgear, thank god. Shelly threw opened her window and stared out at the sunrise, watching the little redneck town awaken. A lot had changed in South Park since Shelly was twelve.

In the last year or so, South Park had recovered a lot of good people it had lost, due to lame 8th Season episodes. It all began when the local mad scientist Dr. Mephisto had managed to revive the murdered bus driver Ms. Crabtree, two Halloweens ago. He had needed to give her a new heart to do so, and since Hell's Pass Hospital had no spares at that time, they were forced to kill the annoying red-haired detective to save her. The rest of the police force had then fled to Canada, fearful for their own lives, and South Park was left once again with only the moronic Officer Barbrady to enforce order. Upon hearing the news, everyone who'd snuck out of South Park over the years to escape the criminal justice promptly returned, now that the coast was clear. These included Pip the British kid, who'd been charged for singing someone's front lawn when demons hurled him away from Cartman's birthday party; Damien, the son of Satan, who had been dealing Terrance and Phillip merchandise to elementary scholars; and a mercenary known to most as Ze Mole, charged for partaking in illegal schemes for money.

But not everything had changed for the better. At the end of her freshmen year at Paris Hilton High School, the most horrible year of Shelly's school career, the other girls had made Shelly miserable for not being stupid, spoiled, or a wh0re. When it came to the point that Shelly put on Kenny's orange hood and tried to jump off the roof of Tweek's Coffee Shop, her parents decided to transfer her to a different school. So today Shelly was going to find out if Grace O'Malley High was any different.

Shelly was broken out of her thoughts when she noticed some annoying Disney-like music playing from nowhere, and several cute birds, rabbits and mice gathering around her window and staring at her, as if expecting her to sing something.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Shelly demanded,

The music wound down and the animals scattered. Satisfied, Shelly headed downstairs for some breakfast. As she crunched her "Chocolate-Covered Butter Balls!" the doorbell rang.

"Stanley, your boyfriend's here." their mom called.

"Kyle!"

Shelly rolled her eyes and Stan and Kyle hugged and kissed, then walked away to their middle school holding hands. Imagine having a gay jock for a brother.

* * *

Grace O'Malley High School met in the auditorium for a start-of-the-year speech from the principal. Shelly hid her nervousness by folding her arms across her chest. She surveyed her new classmates, to see what kind of people she was dealing with this time. Some jocks tossing a football back and forth across the seats; art students doodling their own Anime characters; nerds playing "Magic" cards while arguing over whether Han or Greedo shot first; and ome rapper kids exchanging a complicated secret handshake. Over in a corner, a group of weirdly nice girls discussing the college applications they'd sent to Christian Universities 3 years in advance. As they discussed this, they were tying some Goth kids to wooden stakes, preparing to burn them for witchcraft. The Goth kids meanwhile were talking about dark poetry, and complaining that the ropes the Christians tied around them weren't nearly tight enough. No sign of any stupid spoiled wh0res, this school was looking goo—

"Hey, I hear that girl wore this ugly head gear in middle school!" a harsh voice stage-whispered.

Shelly's green eyes turned to the right and saw two ditzy girls gossiping. Damn. Well, at least this was only one small group in this school, not 99% of the population like at Hilton. In fact, Shelly suppressed a smirk, if these hoes did that again, she'd try standing up to them this time.

"Welcome students, to Grace O'Malley High!" the principal's voice boomed into the microphone. The students went on talking and playing "Magic" and burning peers at the stake, as if he hadn't said anything. The principal went on, pretending they were listening. He was young black man with a shaved head, wearing a gray business suit. He spoke from a large podium. "I am your new principal, Dave Chappelle!"

* * *

Lunch time.

Time to make some friends. Eh, later. Shelly was too tired to do much talking at the moment. She found an empty table and sat down. She was almost immediately joined by Guess Who. The two prissy girls rushed over and stuck a hot-pink flag in the middle of the table.

"Okay we claim this land for, like, cool people!" the (fake) blond one declared.

However, she was not cheered for it by anyone. They gave Shelly a glance, and started up the loud whispering again.

"She's wearing a Russell Crow shirt! She must be a lesbian!"

"Well her brother's gay I heard, and he gave a B.J. to one of the Baldwins—"

"My brother did not do any of the Baldwins, you just wish _you_ could, you slut!" Shelly spat.

Hey, she wasn't going to let anyone insult her little brother like that! Sure, she killed him with a piano or a lawn mower now and then, but she was his sister, that was her prerogative. It was also her duty to protect him from bitches like this.

The two preps gasped, and whispered frantically.

"She called us sluts!"

"Well what do we do?"

"I don't know!"

This was not how victims of their rumors were supposed to react. It was throwing off their way of life. They held their talon-finger nailed hands up in terror and confusion.

"EEEE!"

"EEEE!"

"EEE!"

"'Scuse me."

An art student with a leopard-spotted baret and some seriously blue hair picked up the end of the table and dumped the two preps off. She and two other artists sat around Shelly in their place.

"OK if we sit here?" a pale girl in a trench coat asked, flicking away the pink flag.

"Sure."

"Don't mind those two," Blue-hair said, at the speed of light. "They're Lindsey Lowtramp and Paris Hoeton, no one with a brain cares what they say. My name's Artsy, and I love Terrance and Phillip" she opened her paint-stained hoodie to reveal a T&P shirt, "And I don't care if it's a little kids show cuz that "Asses of Fire" movie is kick ass!" she took a swig from a bottle of Mocha.

"Uh, Shelly." Shelly introduced herself.

"I'm Frankie," the pale girl said, more slowly and clearly. Her dark pigtails went well with her black trench coat and nail polish. Her other favorite color seemed to be green, as evidence by her emerald lipstick and eye shadow, green-dyed bangs, and green-and-silver Slytherin scarf slung around her neck.

"And I am Sonya!" the third bubbly girl said, with a full-tooth smile that made Shelly think of "Wallace and Grommet." Sonya had a hyper, joyful voice, and some wild white-blond hair that contrasted with her dark brown skin in a very cool way, Shelly thought.

After talking a while to get to know each other and exchange life stories, Sonya made Shelly and offer.

"If you really do hate the preps, I have an offer you might be interested in," Sonya swirled her milk like it was a man's drink, and took a sip from the stray. "You see, we're pulling a prank on them at one of their drunken whore parties tomorrow night. We're getting back at the host for trying to seduce my brother, while she was dating 4 other guys."

"You should come!" Artsy bounced. "We hired a mercenary and everything for it, and we're gonna be sneaking around and breaking the law and it'll be awesome!"

"And you can, maybe, get back at some of those b-tches from Hilton," Frankie shrugged, raising one black eyebrow. "Cuz there'll be people from that school, and Mel Brooks Middle School as well."

Shelly grinned. "I'll kick the thongs right off their asses!"

"Freaks." Lindsey Lowtramp tossed her phony hair as she and Paris walked by.

Shelly frowned, then picked up the lunch table and gave the cafeteria a new floor tile called Lindsey.

"Hooray!" her three new friends cheered.

Unfortunately they weren't the only ones to notice. While the school security officer (Barbrady) escorted Shelly to the Guidance Office ("_Eat your lunch people, there's nothing ta see here_!") a boy who'd been going to different schools than Shelly until now watched her go. A smile took up his entire face, the same smile Stan Marsh wore when he first saw Wendy Testaburgur. Hearts popped up around him, and the song "More Than A Woman" from the movie "Saturday Night Fever randomly" started playing from nowhere.


	3. Dying Giraffe

**Disclaimer: No I don't own South Park. You wanna fight about it? Neither do I. (awkward silence)…..Let's play tether ball.**

**Chapter 2: Dying Giraffe**

Shelly, Artsy, Frankie, and Sonya met at the shore of Stark's Pond around eight at night, as the sky was turning that cool sapphire color. The mercenary they'd hired stood waiting for them under a dead tree. He was a somewhat emo-looking middle schooler, smoking a cigarette and leaning on a shovel. As they approached, he regarded them almost suspiciously, with wide eyes under bushy eyebrows. His eyes met Fraknie's, and they exchanged a respectful nod; Shelly had been told how Frankie was connected to him through various Goth concerts and 2 a.m. Perkins get-togethers, and was the one who had hired him for this mission.

"This is _The Mole_." Artsy told Shelly in a hushed voice, popping a can of Code Red Mt. Dew.

"Bonjure," The Mole said in a deep scratchy voice, giving the girls a two-fingered salute.

On a grown man that voice might sound sexy, but on a kid her brother's age it just sounded weird, so Shelly did her best to ignore it altogether.

"Yo." Shelly said, waving hi to the Mole.

"He's helping us crash Milly Dolcheimer 's party." Sonya explained, tossing white-blond bangs out of her face (which to her frustration, fell back down again). "Hey Mole, this is Shelly, she's coming with us."

The Mole took a small notepad from his pocket and flipped it opened with one hand, holding his smoking cigarette in the other. "Do you have ze flashlights?"

"Check." Frankie opened one side of her trench coat. Inside were strapped five flashlights.

"Ze Mirror?"

"I brought it," Shelly held up her hand-mirror, "but what the hell would we need that fo-?"

"To see if anyvon'es f-cking following us of course!" he took a drag from his cigarette. "And do you have, what is it, zat other thing you wanted to bring,"

Artsy finished a gulp of soda. "The video camera." She opened her tie-dyed backpack and took out a tiny, cheap cam-quarter from "Toys R Us", so old it had the cartoon version of Geoffrey the Giraffe on its logo instead of the creepy new CGI one. "Got it."

"Right zen, let's go. Come on beetches!"

In any other circumstances, Shelly would not take kindly to a man who addressed women as "bitches." But in this situation, she had the feeling that this was simply how the Mole addressed everybody, so it didn't bother her.

The Mole began digging a hole at roughly 72 miles per hour. The high schoolers hopped in after him, one by one. Once underground, Frankie tossed everyone a flashlight. As they made their way through the tunnel, they passed time by listening to Mole tell stories of his adventures. They learned about delinquents he'd helped break out of Juvie Hall, snow fort battles he'd helped win, and why he hated guard dogs so much.

"Tell the one about that guy again, who you said was really hot!" Artsy's voice echoed into her Orange Soda can.

"Yah, Shelly hasn't heard it yet, she has to hear it!" Frankie agreed.

Sonya, who was a lesbian rock singer, hand nothing to add but, "Blech!"

"…I vas bleeding to death as ze USO show. Scratches and bite marks covered my body, and I could still hear zat stupeed 'Yippy Ze Back-flipping Chihuahua' or whatever his name is yipping around inside ze tunnel. And Kyle held me while everything was going dark. 'No Mole, hang on….'"

"That, is so CUTE!" Artsy bounced, and hit the ceiling. "Ow," she rubbed her head under her blue hair.

"So how old were you when that happened?" Shelly asked, still checking the mirror every few seconds to make sure no one was behind them.

"I vas about 8 years old,"

The girls smiles faded into shock and disgust.

"EIGHT?!" Artsy was so shocked that her leopard hat flew up cartoonishely. "That guy was an 8-YEAR-OLD and we though he was ho—Oh my gad!"

"Ewe sick, we though a little 8 year old was….sick!"

Sonya laughed at them, as if to say, _that's what you get for being strait! _

"…and I just found out we're at ze same middle school this year." Mole continued, still digging. "I've never actually told Kyle Brofloski how I feel but—"

"Wait, Kyle Brofloski?" Shelly squinted and shook her head. "That's my brother's boyfriend!"

"He has a boyfriend already?" Mole's voice fell, and his eyebrows went open-drawbridge.

"Yah they're practically married. They've been best friends ever since that fat turd got an anal probe, and they've been lovers ever since they hit puberty and discovered they were gay. So don't even get your hopes up. Uh, sorry."

The Mole's watch started beeping, and his attention returned to the mission. "We've dug for long enough." He turned off his watch and started digging upward. "We should be right under ze Dolcheimer girl's basement. If anything in ze plan goes wrong, make a sound like a dying giraffe."

"But what's a dying giraffe sound like?" Shelly asked.

Frankie threw her head over her shoulder. "Like Mr. Mackey trying to make love to someone."

Mole's shovel burst through the floor of Milly Dolcheimer's basement. What the five saw when they climbed out was very, very disturbing.


	4. Mission: Not Worth It

**Disclaimer: South Park. I want it. But I can't own it.**

**Chapter 3: Mission Maybe Possible, But Just Not Worth It**

The only light in Milly Dolcheimer's basement came from the rainbow strobe light. Alcohol bottles and cans were scattered around the thin-carped floor, as were "popular girls" dancing and doing disturbing things with their multiple boyfriends. What exactly they _were_ doing I will leave to your twisted imagination (which, being that of a "South Park" fan, I'm sure truly is twisted). Milly herself was swinging around a karaoke machine, singing a nastier version of Britney Spears' "Crazy".

"No," Shelly hissed, "I loved that song! They're butchering it!"

Milly's closest cronies served as her backups, singing into their glass bottles and occasionally taking a gulp. Milly pulled one of her boyfriends into the "stage." This guy could really dance; if he was affected by the booze in anyway, he was doing a fine job of hiding it. He looked pretty tough, not the kind of guy you wanted to f-ck with. Maybe it was the "Kill All Perpetrators" tattoo on his left bicep; or maybe just the fact that he'd gotten rid of his beer by shoving it down a quarterback's throat when Milly pulled him up to the front.

"You still in our galaxy?" Artsy shook Shelly back to Earth. "Time to start our plan!" The blue-haired artist was the first to hop out of the hole. She snuck to a nearby wall and ducked under a table of spilled shot glasses. Artsy geared up her video camera.

Shelly cautiously looked both ways, then climbed out of the hole and darted over next to Artsy. "What exactly is the plan again?" she whispered.

Artsy didn't bother to whisper; most of the partygoers were far beyond too drunk to notice or care about any intruders."We're gonna video tape everything they do tonight, then leave the tape where her parents will find it."

"Excellent." Shelly rubbed her hands together, menacingly.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

A girl Shelly remembered from Hilton High was standing on a fold-up chair. She hurled a bottle of blue Vodka across the room. It spun into the concrete wall above Artsy and Shelly and shattered over them. They ducked to the side, to avoid the falling glass and fizzing drink streaming down the wall.

"Vell, I must leave now," The Mole said bitterly. "If I'm not home my mother will f-cking ground me again." He disappeared into his tunnel.

The roof of a new tunnel popped up through the basement floor, as Mole dug his way home.

"Bye." Frankie muttered, following Mole's new tunnel with her green-lidded eyes.

Lindsey Lowtramp suddenly pointed at Arsty. "Look, a video camera! Let's play girls gone wild!"

Artsy screamed and dropped the camera. She dived back into the tunnel like the Cowardly Lion leaping through the window, with a cry of "_SICK!_"

"I'll take over!" Sonya smirked, picking up the camera.

Slowly examining her surroundings, Frankie plopped down onto a flowery beanbag. She pulled a Dr. Pepper from her trench coat and ignored the insanity around her.

Shelly's head twisted back and forth, over her shoulder. They were down Mole and Artsy; Sonya seemed to have the rest of the plan under control; and Frankie had pretty much gone native. All Shelly need do now was decide whose ass to kick first. Her pine-colored eyes finally landed on Ashley Ketchup, the leader of the clique at Hilton who'd been cruelest to her. She pulled Ashley out from between two jocks and hurled her through a small basement window.

"Hey, she like owed me money, like, or someth'n…" Milly slurred.

Shell dropkicked her into the shot-glass table. Sonya was no longer underneath it. The lesbian musician was now running around the basement with the camera, laughing her blond head off.

"Hey." Milly's boyfriend swaggered over to Shelly. "Sup."

_Hot! _Shelly thought, purple hearts sprouting from her head.

The strobe light reflected off his blond bangs when he tossed them pointlessly. In his dark baggy cloths and "50 cent" bling, he could've passed for of those wannabe rappers, but for the fact that he was just too cool and confidant to be some dorky "wigger." Shelly also noted the muscles that bulged from under his tight "Black Sabbath" T-Shirt.

"What school ya go to?" the boy asked, not a hint of beer in his voice.

"O'Malley. You?"

"Mel Brooks Middle School."

"Dude! Your still in middle school? You look like you're 18 or something!"

"I'm 17. I flunked kindergarten a few times," he shrugged.

She looked down, and shyly kicked away a passing-out jock who would have otherwise knocked into her.

"Shelly Marsh."

"Trent Boyette."

Trent Boyette folded his arms and looked around the party with low eyebrows. "This party sucks." When his face turned back on her it was a friendly, crooked smile. "Wanna blow this sh-t hole and come over to my place?"

"You bet your ass!"

Trent raced up the stairs. Giggling, Shelly followed him.

"_Bye_." Frankie sighed, raising her eyebrow.

Sonya giggled, as the preps danced by her camera lifting their tops, like some perverted version of synchronized swimmers.


	5. Ass Master vs Ze Mole

**Chapter 4: The Ass Master vs. Ze Mole**

Shelly waited in Milly's dark front yard for Trent to finish taking his "pit stop."

Kevin McCormick happened to surf by on his chipped, 3-weeled skateboard. He stopped, and scooted back to the yard, curiously. Yep, that was her. That "Saturday Night Fever" song started up again. He nervously kicked up the driveway to Shelly and stuck his hands behind his back. Shelly stared at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he had to say to her. He did his best to sound like a gentleman.

"Hello Shelly Marsh! You probably don't remember my name, but this is forgivable, since I don't always remember my name either. It's Kenny—no wait—Kevin McCormick. Now, I understand that you are attracted to guys like Han Crow and Russell Solo, who have sexy starships and can kick ass. And, well, I don't have a sexy starship, but my skateboard can be kind of like a starship if you pretend a little. And I'm not the world's greatest ass kicker, but we can go to my place and watch Han Solo and Russell Crow kick people's asses on TV. We can also go out somewhere if you want, my treat. I know I'm poor but I have a job now at, uh, I forgot the name, but they sell pizza."

Shelly cocked her head at the stranger, unsure of how to respond. He hadn't been rude, at least not intentionally. But she feared if she tried to reject him nicely, he'd still keep up hope and she'd never be rid of him.

Finally she answered, "Um…You're right, I don't remember you." She kicked him in the nuts.

_I didn't do that to be mean, _Shelly assured herself. _But you can't give annoying dorks like that an inch! _

"Hey, Bitch!" Trent rode out the front door on a moped, bumping down the porch steps. "Wanna go back to my place and make out?"

"Hell yeah!" Shelly hoped on behind him.

Kevin watched them speed off with a crushed heart, clutching his crushed man-grapes.

* * *

Middle schoolers were gossiping, and tossing footballs around the playground.

(Mel Brooks had once been an elementary school, and the playground had been left up as a memorial to the construction worker who'd been crushed when the cranes dropped the tube slide on him. Many suspected he was pushed under the slide, because Butters Scotch swore up and down that he'd heard the man's ghost groan _pussshed!_ every time he walked passed one of the bathrooms. But that's another story.)

The Mole, or Christophe, was spending his lunch hour under the shade of a seesaw, his face resting on his fingerless-gloved hands, watching Kyle Brofloski play "Kick You in the Nuts!" with Stan Marsh and some other boys. Christophe sighed deeply.

"AY! What the HELL are YOU still doing alive?"

Christophe looked up and saw the fat f-ck who'd gotten him killed by dogs, all those four years ago. Cartman was munching a 3-foot sub sandwich. He waited eagerly for a response, but Christophe was too depressed to care. Cartman's fat face blinked into an angry frown. After another moment of silence, he waddled to the low end of the seesaw and threw it upwards, so that the other end smacked down onto Christophe's head.

"Ow, sheet!"

While the stunned Frenchman's head was still vibrating, Cartman added, "I thought the guard poodles finished you off at the USO show, ya British piece of sh-t!"

Mole stood up. "VAT did you call me?"

"Uh,"

"Did you just call me BRITISH?!"

Kyle, Stan, and their friends were still giggling at their "kick you in the nuts" game when Cartman suddenly ran through the crowd, yelling something about a rabid Englishmen, while the Mole chased him, smacking him with a shovel and yelling between whacks, "I'm—f-cking—French!" They stared, while the two circled around the playground and back to the seesaw.

"AY!" Cartman started blocking Christophe's blows with his long sandwich. "RESPECT MA ATHORITAY!"

"Look, a fight!" Wendy Testabugur pointed.

She and her boyfriend Token lead the excited mob to the seesaw. Mole and Cartman were now swash bucking with their shovel and sandwich, running and jumping around the seesaw. Mole bared his teeth and knocked Cartman's green hat crocked. The crowd "Ooo!"ed.

"What's going on Bebe?" Clyde asked his girlfriend, calmly walking over with his hands in his red pockets.

"That Mole kid vs. Eric Cartman!" Bebe answered excitedly. "I hope he kicks his fat ass!"

The two boys were using some impressive moves with their weapons. Mole laughed triumphantly when his shovel smashed into Cartman's enormous ass. Bebe jumped and started clapping.

"Ah, that hurt god dammit!" Cartman made for Christophe's head.

The mercenary dodged the blow easily, but two pickles fell from the sub and hit his face. The crowd made like a gasp-track.

"What's going on, Dude?" a boy with blond, messy hair in an orange hoodie joined the crowd.

Tweek spun around, shaking with panic. "Kenny! Cartman and that goth French kid are having a duel to the death! AAAAHH!"

Tweek's lover Craig hooked his arm about him and said coolly, "Kiss me B-tch," then spun Tweek down into a smooch.

Cartman swung his sandwich again. Mole leaped backwards onto one side of the seesaw, dodging the falling mayonnaise. Cartman hopped onto the other side, sending Mole shooting up into the sky. The spectators exchanged glances, trying not to snicker. Then they were rolling over, suffocating from laughter.

"I am not fat god dammit, I'm big boned!" Cartman hollered.

They laughed harder.

Mole landed face-first back onto the seesaw. His shovel landed blade first in the ground next to him. Spitting, he leapt up, swiped back his piece, and swung for Cartman. The seesaw creaked up and down as they fought. The "Pirated of the Caribbean" soundtrack suddenly began to play from nowhere.

The fight (and the music) was cut off by the school bell. Everyone stampeded into the building, Cartman still yelling that he wasn't fat.

"Yes you are Hippo Ass." Kyle said.

Kenny stayed behind. The Mole was brushing pickles and sauce off his face.

"That was frikking sweet dude! It's The Mole, right?"

He and the Mole hardly knew each other, but it was a small school. Names were easy.

"Yes." Mole answered. "Kenny McCormick, iz it?"

"Yep. So, how's Cartman pissing _you _off?"

"Ah, he's just a _gran vash_." Mole muttered. "F-cking beetch got me killed when I was eight…"

"Oh yah, I hate dying! Does it happen to you every week too, or was that just a one time thing?"

"You've died before too?" Mole raised one eyebrow.

"All the time. I even went to Hell once!" Kenny bragged. "Twice, actually! I sacrificed my soul to reverse all the deaths from the American Canadian War."

"Canadian Wa-? You saved me!"

"Huh?"

"I died in ze American Canadian War! Zat rat Eric Cartman forgot to shut off ze security alarms, and I was mauled by guard dogs. It iz because of your absurd arse-pull plot-device of a sacrifice zat I am alive today! Thank you for going to Hell for me, Kenny McCormick!"

"Woa, your welcome!" Kenny was genuinely surprised, no longer boasting.

The second, "Time to seriously sit your ass down or get detention, now!" bell rang.

"Woa, I gotta go." Kenny ran inside. "See you later, The Mole!"

Christophe waved, and followed him inside. _Amazing_, he thought in French, _there's someone else here who I have something in common with! Another person who's died before! …God damn this town is fucked up. _


	6. Reunion

**Disclaimer: Don't own South Park**

**Chapter 5:**

"Let's have sex."

"F-ck that." Shelly answered.

She and Trent were making out on the sofa in Trent's living room.

"Why the f-ck not? If you loved me you would."

"What the f-ck do you mean, 'loved you'? We've been dating a full two days."

"Oh…yeah." Trent's face fell.

He hated it when they were smart.

"Let's go kick someone's ass again!" Shelly sat up. "You still gotta show me how you managed to stuff a cow up that British kid's ass!"

"Don't uh, don't you wanna make out some more?"

"Not now, that's getting boring." She picked up the remote and turned on the TV. "Hey, 'Empire Strikes Back'! I love these movies!"

Trent folded his arms and sighed. _He _loved poody tang.

After just two weeks of dating, Trent was really beginning to piss Shelly off. Aside from a great passion for kicking people's asses and abusing the F-bomb, they shared no interests at all. Shelly loved making out, but after doing it 24/7 she had run out of new move ideas and it got boring. And Trent asking "Wanna have sex now?" ten seconds after every time she said "no" got annoying too.

The relationship's turning point occurred the following afternoon, when they were walking home from school, and decided to make out again, this time in an alley behind a parked school bus.

"Sick, my brother's boyfriend's sister is making out with someone behind the bus!" a Canadian forth-grader cringed, pointing out the bus window.

"SIT DOWN AN' SHUT UP OR I'LL SHOOT THE CUTE LI'LL BUNNY RABBIT!" Miss Crabtree hollered on instinct.

"Do you wanna have sex now?" Trent asked Shelly.

"Trent, what the hell. Can't you just go home and take a cold shower? I mean, _Frankie's_ boyfriend doesn't let his dick do all the thinking for him."

"Frankie's boyfriend's probably gay. Come on, Milly did it all the time with me."

"Milly's a dumb hoe."

"OK, look." Trent pulled away her.

They'd been making out next to a large green trash dumpster. Without even looking away from her, Trent picked up the dumpster by the corner in one hand, like it was a basket ball. He then began twirling it like one.

a"If my dick's not going in your p-ssy," he threatened, "Then this dumpser's going up your nice ass!"

Shelly screamed.

As tough as she was, Trent was much stronger, and she couldn't find anything to shove up _his_ ass. She looked for a place to run….

Across the street, Kevin McCormick was cruising down the sidewalk on his busted skateboard, when the school bus pulled away, revealing the scene in the alley behind it. There was Shelly, trying frantically to scurry up the brick wall. And there was that buff blond guy, trying to attack her with a trash dumpster. It took a few seconds for Kevin's small brain to process that this was bad.

He wondered if he should do something. Because on one hand, she had been a b-tch to him. She had kicked him in the nuts. But maybe she just on her period that day. Or perhaps he hadn't come off as gentlemanly as he'd thought. Either way, he decided, she didn't deserve a dumpster up her ass.

Kevin's head twisted around the area, searching for a weapon. At last, he found something bigger and heavier than any dumpster.

"AY! What the f-ck are you doing?"

Kevin dragged Cartman (who was cramming Cheesy Poofs in his mouth) by his red jacket, across the street. Then, heaving, Kevin swung the fatass on top of Trent Boyette, crushing him flat. The predator hollered muffled curses from underneath Cartman's fat ass. Cartmen farted on him, laughed, and shoved more Cheesy Poofs in his mouth.

"Where'd you learn to do that?!" Shelly hopped down from the wall, wide-eyed.

"You taught it to me, actually," Kevin said.

Shelly's head bobbed up with a blink. "_Kevin_?"

"Oh yeah, that's it!" He quickly pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote his name on his hand. "Thanks!"

"Kevin, listen. I am so sorry for kicking you in the nuts." Shelly looked down. "I feel like such a bitch."

"That's ok. Ever since you taught me how to bash people with furniture and big, huge junk like that…"

"AY!" Cartman yelled.

"…I haven't gotten beat up by bullies anymore."

Behind them, two high school boys who were walking by stopped and pointed.

"Aaaa! It's Kevin!"

Then they continued their walk.

"Oh." Now that she looked, Shelly saw Kevin's face was no longer covered in bruises and band-aids like it was when they'd first met in middle school.

"Well…I'm still sorry. And I still feel like a bitch."

"Oh, well…wanna go play tether ball?"

"Sure."

Trent pounded the ground as Cartmen issued more rounds of gas. Only when Cartmen rolled over laughing did Trent, coughing for breath and seething with fury, escape and bolt from the alley.


	7. The Poor Kid and the Frenchman

**Disclaimer: I did not steal characters from "South Park", I just took them without permission.**

**Chapter 6: The Poor Kid and the Frenchman **

"Say Terrance…"

"Yes Phillip?"

"Would you check and see if there is anything abnormal about my ass?"

"Why certainly Phillip!"

_FRAAAP!_

"Ahahahahahahahah you sure got me that time Phillip!"

"I sure did Terra—"

"Oh I've seen this episode like a million times already," Stan said between kisses, as he and Kyle made out on the couch.

"Mmm...Me too," Kyle said, kissing a trail down Stan's neck. "Would you change the channel, Kenny?"

"Uh, sure," Kenny bounced off the couch, eager to get away. Being the third wheel at somebody's house is always a little weird.

"…and now back to Jesus and Pals!"

"Hello my son," the star greeted his first caller. "What is you name?"

"Christophe."

Kenny muttered, "Hey, that's Mole."

"And what is your question my son?"

"Why is God such a f-cking beetch?"

Another voice came in over the line.

"CHRISTOPHE, VAT IN ZE HELL DO YOU ZINK YOU ARE DOING?!"

"Ah, nothing mother!"

Jesus' eyes widened as some racket was heard over the line. "Uh…okay, and now we'll just move on to our next caller, Father Ted!"

Kenny turned off the TV and headed for the door.

"I have to find out what that kid's problem is!"

"Well Stan," Kyle grinned, "It's just you and me now."

Stand smiled devilishly. "We've got some chocolate syrup and sprinkles in the 'fridge. I'll be right back…"

* * *

Kenny knocked on the Mole's door. He had asked all around the neighborhood if anyone knew his address or phone number, until that snooty British kid Gregory had graciously given him directions. A small group of passing high-schoolers screeched to a halt on their bikes.

"Don't even bother," a messy-haired boy said, scornfully. "The Mole's grounded again. Now who's gonna help us get that video back?" The dust flew up as the forsaken bikers sped away.

At the same moment, Christophe's mother opened the door and said, without even looking down at Kenny, "I'm sorry he's grounded. Go home." The door closed.

"Sh-t." Kenny mumbled.

The ground beneath him suddenly started shaking, pushing up. Kenny was knocked over by The Mole's shovel. The French boy's head came out of the street with a muffled _pop_.

"Oh, hello Kenny."

"Hey Mole! Are you busy right now? I had a question."

"Shh! I'm working now, but I suppose you can tag along."

The high-schoolers curved back towards Mole and Kenny, like a heard of wild boars that just spotted an evil dictator who they wanted to trample.

"So is it still on?" the lead boy asked The Mole.

"Yes, sorry for ze delay. I still demand four dollars in advance."

"Great!" He handed the mercenary four bills, which he pocketed.

The mission, evidently, was to sneak into a cheap video store and retrieve a film that one of the high-schoolers had been forced to return early when his father discovered it. (Davis had thought hiding it at the bottom of his Lucky Loon's Marshmallow Cereal would have ensured its secrecy, but apparently his dad was the one who'd always sneaked bowls of Davis's personal cereal at night, and not, as Davis had believed, his younger sister Kate. Davis almost paid for hoarding the R-rated film by being sold into slavery to the Hilton family and just barely managed to escape using a cigarette lighter, ten balloons, and a half-empty bottle of cleaning fluid—but that, too, is another story.)

"Do you have ze rope?" the Mole asked his customers.

"What'd we need rope for?" One of the boys asked.

"Ay! Who is ze mercenary here, and who are ze pathetic civilians in need of help?"

The boy shrugged. Kenny snickered.

"Vat's so funny Kenny?" The Mole asked smiling, but also lighting another cigarette.

"S-sorry," Kenny said, finishing his giggling fit. "Just the way you said 'Hey', you sounded almost like Cartman with a French accent."

Mole rolled his eyes and muttered something rude about Cartman in French.

About ten minutes later they were all crouching against the Two Towers Video Store's wall, carrying out their plan. Mole was to climb through the return slot, which the tenth-graders were too big to fit through, and search through the pile of returned tapes and fish out their movie. They were pleased to hear that their chances were doubled, when Kenny offered to help look for the tape too.

"Hey Mole," Kenny asked, turning over videos.

"You know Kenny McCormick," the Mole said, digging through the videos with his shovel, "Altzough I do not normally trust outsiders wiz my Christian name, somehow I feel zat you can call me Christophe if you please."

"Um, right,"

Kenny never did understand why the Mole bothered with the alias, when his real name was given during attendance at school every morning. Whenever the teacher called, "LeFleur, Christophe?" the Mole would look around suspiciously to make sure no one was watching, and then quickly shoot his hand in the air for only a split second.

"So Christophe, uh, yeah, I don't mean to sound like an oversensitive puss bag, but why did you crank call 'Jesus and Pals'?"

"Because I hate God, and I zink he's a c-ck sucking ass hole."

Though Kenny was not religious enough to try swaying Christophe's mind like the witch hunters at Shelly's school, he was enough so to be completely baffled.

"Why Dude?"

The Mole threw a copy of "Star Wars: The Ewok Experience!" behind him and kept digging.

"Because God had purposely made my life miserable. I never knew my father, my mother tried to kill me with a clothes hanger a month before my birth, and she also forces me to watch "Les Smurfs" whenever I am grounded, which is all ze time."

"Holy sh-t," Kenny unconsciously fiddled with "Blues Clues Murder Mystery" in his hands as he spoke now. "So then are you like, a Satanist or what?"

"No, I decided I hate his ass too, ever since zat time I died."

"What was dying like for _you_, Mole?" Kenny asked…


	8. The Tale of the Mole's Death

**Disclaimer: If I owned South Park, that "Lord of the Rings" episode would've had a few girls in it.**

**Chapter 7: More Slash!**

"…_Zough I die… _

_La Resistance lives…_

…_on._

Eeeech."

And then The Mole was no more. Stan and Kyle stared sadly. Cartman just stared.

Christophe saw the world go dark, like someone was dimming the lights, until Kyle and Yippi the dog and the USO show were gone. And then, suddenly, he was in outer space, floating up to a very disturbing version of Heaven. Had Christophe been strait, he'd probably have been estatic about the sight of all these naked women, but as it was, he wasn't. He swore when he smacked into a gigantic orange button. It read PUSH, so he pushed it. The button blinked back; "Access Accepted." A light blinded Christophe, and he found himself looking into the face of….

…a half-lizard half-muskrat thing.

"Welcome to Heaven Christophe." The celestial amphibian greeted him. "I am God. You agreed to help save two innocent Canadians without asking anything in return. When you bravely died in the attempt, you did not bitch at Cartman for not shutting off the power and letting you get mauled by Germen shepherds, but instead found the pride within yourself to die with dignity. Now rest in peace forever, in my kingdom."

Christophe was silent for a moment. Then he spat angrily, "Spend eternity with _you?_ F-ck zat!"

"What are you doing?"

Before he could stop him, Christophe turned around and jumped off the cloud, down to Hell. He landed face first. He spit out some coals and sat up, wiping his face. He looked around at the leaping flames; at Hitler playing "Crazy 8s" with Columbus; and at Satan dancing in a hoola skirt.

"Oh good, and endless supply of cigarette lighters!" Christophe lit up a joint on the fires of Hell. "Now zis is Heaven."

He took a drag. Then he heard a snarl. Hesitantly, he turned around, and the next second was sizing up Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog of Hell.

"SHEEEEEET!"

One of the heads caught him, and the monster made him into a chew-toy.

* * *

"Then what happened?" Kenny asked.

They were still sitting in the pile of videos, which they'd been completely ignoring for most of The Mole's story.

"Well zen I woke up back at ze hole where I died. I shoed away some rats who'd been trying to eat me with my shovel, and dug myself home. I heard later on ze news zat some kid had gone to Hell to stop ze war with Canada and save everyone."

"Oh, well, I'm glad I did it now."

"Now?"

"Well Cartmen and them still treat me like crap."

"Oh, I see. I'm miserable still too. Your friend Kyle, who's arms I died in? I love him. Even zough I know he's with Stan so I'll never be with him. I love him."

Kenny put his arm around Christophe. "Look, my life is sh-t too. If you ever need somebody to talk to, talk to me."

"Zankyou Kenny."

The two boys hugged each other for a long time.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The video disposal vibrated with the BANG!ing, and Kenny and Christophe shot apart.

"Hey, who's in there?" the video store's Southern owner demanded. "Wilson, is that you? I swear if I catch ya masturbatin' with the videos again I'll have yer ass mounted on ma wall before you can say 'Hard Bodies 2'…"

"Quick!" Christophe hissed rummaging frantically through the tapes. "We have to find zat movie,"

Kenny was halfway burrowed upside-down in the movies before he burst back up (sending other tapes clanging against the metal walls). "Here it is! 'Team America: Word Police'!"

Christophe shoed Kenny though the return slot and dove after him just as the owner was announcing his return with a crow-bar.

"Thanks man!" The high school leader shoved the movie into one of his 300 pants pockets.

The high school boys remounted their bikes, and then up went the dust again. One of them tossed Christophe the last five dollars they still owed him for the service.

"Hey, Christophe," the blond said awkwardly, "I know you're sad about Kyle and stuff but, I dunno, would you wanna go out somewhere…?"

"Perhaps in a week or so." Christophe pocketed his last fiver. "I need some time to get over him."

"Okay."

After that they went to Kenny's house and played random card games will watching "Asses of Fire 3: The Blast and the Furious" on TV.


	9. Principal Chappelle

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own South Park, Dave Chappelle, The Matrix, or Walmart**

**Warning:**** It has come to the attention of some reviewers that this story is more f-cked than "Pulp Fiction" and "The Breakfast Club." I have now seen "Pulp Fiction," and can say with absolute certainty that my story is NOT as fked as this great movie, but neither is it as awesome as it. Perhaps when I can get Quentin Tarantino to co-write a fanfic with me, then I can truly write a story as fcked as "Pulp Fiction." **

**Chapter 8: Principal Chappelle**

Shelly and Kevin were walking back to Kevin's house after their first date. The sun was starting to set, but it was Friday, so Shelly's parents let her go. They know both the kids would be up talking on the phone and reading pointless fan-fiction stories on the Internet long after midnight anyway.

"That movie was hilarious Kevin!" Shelly said, looking into Kevin's paradot eyes. "Thanks."

"No problem." Kevin looked down and shrugged. "I like when the snakes got those people in the closet thingy!" he grinned looking back up.

Shelly laughed. "And when that other snake came out of the toilet, and that guy was all like, 'fckign snake, let go of my dick!'"

Love is weird. Although he'd never be as hot as Trent, now that she liked Kevin, Shelly actually found him attractive looking. The friendly eyes, blond messed up hair. And she thought it was cute when he was being a dork.

They soon caught a city bus ("Sit down 'n shut the hell up!") and rode back to the McCormick's, arriving just as Christophe was leaving.

"You're welcome any time Christophe," Kenny and Kevin's mom was waving the semi-Goth French kid 'bye. She muttered to herself, "Can't never understand a word that German kid's saying though,"

Mr. McCormick's voice came from inside the house. "Woman, you drink all ma beer again?!"

"You drank it yourself you stupid ja—Oh hi Kevin. Who's thi-?"

"You drank ma tequila too?!"

"Kevin," Mrs. McCromick signed, "Would you…?"

Kevin pulled a pet crab tank off the counter and bashed his drunken dad over the head with it.

"Kenny, what in the hell was that? You know I'm way to wasted to feel—" his obnoxious dad suddenly swayed, and then dropped unconscious.

"Thanks Kevin." Mrs. McCormick went to stuff her negligent husband in the closet, but it was already too full. "So who's your friend?" she asked, looking for another storage place, finally settling on the laundry machine.

"Shelly. She's the one who taught me that knocking-people-out-with-furniture trick." Kevin said.

"That so? In that case Shelly, _you're_ welcome here any time too." She made to slam the laundry machine shut, stopped, shrugged, and then began loading dirty clothes on top of her husband.

Kenny wandered in from his room, hands in his jean pockets. He looked distracted.

"Oh hey Kevin." Kevin said.

"No, I'm Kenny. _You're_ Kevin."

"Oh, yah. Hi Kenny."

"Yo." Shelly waved; she knew Kenny. "Is something wrong, turd?"

Her rivalry with the younger crowd had ebbed away with time, but they all still accepted certain things as facts. Shelly was a "big bitch" who bashed them with pianos, and Stan, Kyle, Kenny and Cartmen were "turds" who stole her CDs, and in Cartmen's case, dresses. And so, they were all part of the great Circle of Life.

"Well I think I'm in love, but he's kind of demented. And I'm not sure how to react to all of this. Now that I think of it, I'm not sure about me either. First I thought I just liked girls with big fat t-ies, but now all of a sudden I'm dating a boy. So…I guess I'm bi? Weird."

"Did you ask that teacher of yours?" Kenny's mom put in. "You know, that one you guys always get advice from?"

"Who Chef? Well…"

* * *

The flashback took place in the lunchroom of Mel Brooks Middle School, in its usual pandemonium.

Damien was scaring people by making stuff fly around the cafeteria again. Thrill-seeking boys were jumping into the funnel, stupidly yelling "Twisteeeeer!" Girls talked of manicures and celebrities, sometimes glancing longingly at the fun the boys were having and asking one another "Do want to go over there? Oh neither do I, I was just kidding. Ha, ha, shoes rule!"

The menu on the wall read: 3-week old pizza, fish burger, salty chocolate-balls, milk.

"Hello there, Children!" Chef greeted Kenny, Stan, Kyle, and Cartman.

"Hi Chef."

"How's it going?"

"Chef," Kenny said. "I need help. I'm in love with a guy, and he's a God-hating, violence-loving, delinquent psycho. What should I do?"

"Well Children, let me sing you a little song….._Ooooh, you're in love with a woman but she's a delinquent violent psychooo, butcha' gonna make love to her anyway_…"

"Chef—"

"…_all through the niiii-iiight_…"

"Chef it's not a girl it's a gu-"

"…_I'm gonna make love to ya woman—_"

"CHEF! I'm in love with a BOY!"

Chef blinked. "Oh, sorry children, can't help you there." He returned his attention to flipping fish burgers.

* * *

"Yah, Chef wasn't much help." Kenny said.

Shelly thought for a moment. "Hey, I bet my school principal could help!"

"Really?"

"Yah, I got sent to the office on the first day of school for kicking a ditz's ass, and he was really understanding."

"Oh thanks dude."

* * *

Kenny came to O'Malley High an hour before school would start. The secretary showed him into the principal's office. The principal was behind a desk in a high-backed chair, facing away from him. He was on the phone.

"…hello, is this Walmart? Yes, one of our students is absent and it's unexcused. One of his friends said they saw him heading for your store earlier today…oh, would you please? Yes, page him right now, if it's not too much trouble. The student's last name—" Kenny heard the principal struggling not to laugh. "—I'm sorry. Student's last name is Giver. He goes by his first initials, B.J. Page him right now please, yes. Thank you."

The principal laughed hysterically as the worker paged the nonexistent student. Kenny, being Kenny, logged that prank name away in his mind for the next time he was bored. Then he spoke up.

"Um, Principal Chappelle?"

Chappelle slammed the phone down in its holder and spun around in his chair, folding his hands on the desk seriously.

"Yes, what can I do for you," he asked, clearing his throat unconvincingly.

"Well I have this new friend, actually he might be a boyfriend,"

"Mmm-hmmmmmm."

"I wanna stay with him cuz he treats me way better than that fat f-ck of a "friend" Cartman, and being around Kyle and Stan's just weird these days. And Christophe's the only one who can appreciate what I go through when I die every other week, and he's also got the nastiest sense of humor in South Park, which to me is really sexy."

Noticing that the principal was snoring, Kenny cut to the chase. "The only problem is that he's always bitching about God. And I mean, every time I die God is really awesome to me. So, should I just ignore when Christophe does that, or what?"

Chappelle was staring at Kenny with his face slumped on his fist, wearing a half- "I'm bored" and half-"you're crazy" expression.

"Boy, no offence, but your life is more f-cked up than that frikkng 'Pulp Fiction' movie."

"Yah. But should I dump Christophe, or just go 'la la la' when he's talking about God, or what?"

"Well, do you know _why_ your queer lover hates God?"

"He says his life's sh-t, but I think that's mostly his mom's fault."

"You know Kenny," Chappelle sat back in his chair, "Sometimes people act nasty or demented because of crap that happens in their lives. For example, if you were to, I don't know, visit Sesame Street. And you asked Oscar the Grouch," he put on a squeaky voice, "'Oscar, why are you such a grouch?' What do you think his response would be?"

"How the hell should I know dude." Kenny shrugged.

"He'd probably say, 'BITCH, I LIVE IN A F-CKIN' TRASH CAN!"

"But then why doesn't Oscar move out of the trash can and get a life?"

"Exactly! Your girlfriend- boyfriend- whatever, needs to confront his mother, or God, or whoever it is that is making his life a trash can! Then he can fix his problems, or some sappy crap like that."

"Thanks! You really cleared that up for me. You're the best principal ever, Principal Chappelle!"

"Any time." he waved. "But now, I've got some uh, important phone calls to make."

Kenny said his goodbyes and left. Chappelle dialed another number on his phone. "Hello, my I speak to Mr. Anderson?…Hello Neo…yes, I am Morpheus..."

**A/N: Sorry there was no action in this chapter. My next fanfic will be a car-chase/explosions flick. But if you're reading this, that it must mean you've read my stupid chapter, so thanks!**


	10. Smurf Inferno

**Disclaimer: And I don't own the Smurfs, or Marilyn Manson, of Lord of the Rings either.**

**Chapter 9: Smurf Inferno**

Christophe scurried out of his tunnel and into his basement. He tried sneaking up to his room, but his mother caught him just as he was shutting the basement door behind him. She began yelling at him in French. The subtitles below her read:

"Christophe! Where have you been?"

He took his joint out of his mouth to answer, his own set of subtitles popping up below him. "Nowhere."

"Have you been smoking?"

He took a drag. "No."

"What's that in your mouth?"

"Candy cane." Noticing the tobacco floating around him, he added, "An American kind. All their candy is so goddamn weird here—Oh damn! I mean, darn-"

"What did I tell you about taking the Lord's name in vain in this house? You are still grounded!"

Christophe kicked his subtitles angrily, sending white letters flying across the carpet. His mom took him by the arm, yanked him up to his room, and turned on the TV to the Smurfs. She turned up the volume and left, slamming the door behind her.

"_Papa Smurf, voulez vou cousher avec moi?" _

"_Oui, oui Smurfette! Oui oui!"_

Biting his lip with fury, Christophe put on an I-pod and listened to Marilyn Manson music. "I hate you God." he muttered flipping off the sky out his window.

* * *

"What IS the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? And intestinal worm?"

"Ah, what Mr. Cobb is trying to say is…"

FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP! Frap fraaap fraaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaaap!

"Gass!"

Terrance and Phillip burst into laughter, concluding the opening scene of their newest parody movie, "Asseption."

"I don't know Kyle," Stan said. He and his lover were making out on the sofa again. "Should we go to the Cowfest Dance at O'Malley High tonight, or stay here and have a Lord of the Rings marathon?"

Cowfest was an annual holiday celebrated by the hick town of South Park every fall. Basically, it was an excuse to have another day to cancel school and work and get drunk.

Shelly's high school was holding a dance that night, to which students from the neighboring middle school were also invited as long as they had a permission slip from their parents (this was to avoid lawsuits, should anything like spiked punch or the Canadian Mafia get involved—again).

"Dunno," Kyle said. "My mom signed my slip. But on the other hand, your parents are going out, and Shelly's going to the dance, so if we stay we'd have the house to ourselves!"

They heard Shelly swear harshly from upstairs. "STUPID _FAT_ TURD!"

"Sounds like she found the pink dress," Kyle muttered. "Seriously, we should just lock Cartman in the house with her some time and then all our problems will be finished."

"Word." Stan said and smooched him. "Ah, what the hell, let's just go to the dance and watch Lord of the Rings later. It's not every day we get to see Rick James perform live at a school dance."

"Okay turds, how do I look?" Shelly asked, coming down the stairs.

She'd finally found a glittery periwinkle dress that the ass master hadn't managed to stretch three times her size. She had green teardrop earrings, and her chestnut hair (actually brushed for once—another thing she and Kevin both hated was brushing their hair) was up in a spiral bun, except for her bangs.

"A lot like Mulan actually." Stan answered.

"Okay."

The doorbell rang.

* * *

"_Nerdy Smurf,_ _voulez vou cousher avec moi?"_

"_Oui Smurfette, oui, oui, oui, OUI!"_

"_La, la, lala, la, la, sing a happy song, la, la, lala, la, la, smurf the whole day long!"_

Christophe flopped onto the bed face-first, turned his headphones onto full blast, and crammed a pillow over his head.

_Tap, tap._

He lifted up the pillow. "Hmm?"

_Tap, tap, tap._

It was Kenny! The blond Yank was sitting in a tree outside his window. Christophe bounced off the bed and shoved it opened.

"Kenny?"

Kenny coughed for air. Once the cigarette smoke from Christopohe's room had (mostly) passed him, Kenny said quietly, "Come on dude! I'm taking you to the Cowfest Dance."

"I can't go I—"

"_Oh Grouchy Smurf, voulez_—"

Christophe muted his TV. "I'm f-cking grounded Kenny."

"So you're always grounded. Come on, I died twice just getting over here to get you! First Cartman threw a hand grenade out the window at me while I was running past his house, and then Chef his me with his Cadillac,"

"Kenny, I'm sorry. But I don't even have my permission slip signed to go,"

"Christophe!" his mother hollered from downstairs. "I don't hear any Smurfs!"

He glared at his door. With an expression like he was about to kill somebody, Christophe twisted the TV volume back up.

"All right, Beetch. Let's go."

He climbed out the window and followed Kenny down the tree, hoping the blast of the communist children's program would drown out the noise.

"_Handy Smurf, voulez vou couche_…"


	11. Oh My God They Killed

**I don't own South Park because Matt & Trey thought of it first. I don't own Adult Swim, Monty Python, Aladdin, Sesame Street, Dave Chappelle, or any of the songs mentioned in this chapter. I don't own Rick James either because he is dead. Enjoy the punch!**

**Chapter 10: Oh My G-d, They Killed…**

The rap music boomed. The rainbow rings of the disco ball bobbed around the high school gym, as if jumping and screaming along with the mash pit. The guest singer was supposedly Rick James, though the guy on the stage didn't look much like the King of Funk. On the contrary, he looked suspiciously like Principal Chappelle.

"You look so elegant Sonya, and you too Natalie," said Frankie, who wore a glistening emerald gown with sliver trim. Her dark hair sat curled over one shoulder, and tiny waterfalls of gold dangled from her ears.

"Oh you too!" said Sonya's date Natalie, whose outfit made her look like a princess from some high-quality Anime movie.

"Nice, uh, tie." Frankie's boyfriend Han said to his male friend.

"Oh, thanks." His friends nodded, looking around. "Yep. It's green." He nodded some more.

"I see Trent came in his true form." Frankie muttered to Sonya, as Trent Boyette passed them. He strode by in a white tux with a matching hat that had a peacock feather in it, swinging a diamond cane. A group of preps giggled around him.

"Shelly's here!" Artsy left her circle of friends and ran to greet them. Sonya, in a flowery dress with a black fishnet jacket, followed her.

"Shelly, Kevin, sup!" Artsy's eyes were like tennis balls. "Guys! Ohmigad guys! They got blue punch here, and it's got a lot of sugar in it, and, I think it's spiked!"

"Cool," Kevin said. "We'd better go get some then."

"It is not spiked," Sonya said rolling her eyes, and her voice. "It just looks bubbly cuz it came out of a can."

"Sonya," Artsy gasped, as they followed Shelly and Kevin to the drinks. "I've had six cups, and I am f-cking _crazy!_" she jumped and threw her leopard art hat in the air (the rest of her outfit was blue like her hair, and sparkly).

"That's just you on sugar Artsy." The punk rocker said, helping herself to a cup and taking a long sip.

"Hmm, maybe." Artsy said, shaking from the caffeine.

"If she were four years younger she could date Tweek." Kyle commented, spinning past the girls with Stan.

"WHAT?!" Craig demanded. He shoved his way through the colorfully lit crowd and started to strangle Artsy. "TWEEK IS MY B-TCH! YOU STAY AWAY FROM HIM SMURF-HAIR!"

Artsy burst out laughing. I can provide you with no closer simile other than a hyperactive hyena, off her ADD medication, watching a Monty Python movie while chugging Mt. Dew and Pixy Sticks.

* * *

Outside, Kenny and Christophe ducked behind the big O'Malley High School sign, panting. They watched Wendy and Tolkin get admitted into the dance by the security guards.

"I still don't have a permission slip," Christophe said. "But we may be able to sneak in through one of ze back doors." He light a cigarette.

"Oh! Don't forget," Kenny reached into his jeans pocket and drew two neckties. "You want the red one, or the smiley faces?"

"Uh, I don't care."

Kenny gave Christophe the red tie and clipped the yellow smilies onto his blue T-shirt. They snuck around to the back of the school, where no living humans were hanging out except a couple making out on a bench.

"Look, no security guards!" Kenny whispered. "If Pip or Damien has a cell phone, I can call someone inside to open a door for us!"

The blond looked both ways, and climbed over the sign.

"Pip! Damien! Either of you got a cell phone?"

Without changing his I'm-the-prince-of-Hell-so-you-better-not-fck-with-me expression, Damien stuck out his hand and conjured up a fireball. When it vanished a second later, it left behind a small black cell phone.

"Thanks!" Kenny tired a few numbers, and finally got a hold of Clyde.

The back door opened a crack. Peeking to see that no policemen were around, Clyde opened it up (his tie had Legolas from "Lord of the Rings" on it).

"I don't think anyone's looking now," Clyde's hand rotated. "Come on!"

Christophe was about to run out from behind the sign, when a spotlight landed on the opened door!

"Hey! What are you doing young man?" it was the village idiot, Officer Barbrady.

"Um, getting some fresh air… because… Cartmen farted?" Clyde tried, nervously tugging at his collar.

("'AY!")

"No one is allowed inside the building unless you are a student at O'Malley or have a visitors pass! This is for your own safety, kids. Guards!" Barbrady blew a whistle.

Multiple snarls and barks rose up. Vicious yellow eyes faded in from the dark.

Christophe screamed. "_KENNY, ZEY HAVE GUARD DOGS! RUN FOR YOUR F-CKING LIFE!_"

He lunged under the big stone sign, covering his head as if for a tornado drill. The barking and snarling grew louder and he heard screams. The barking almost sounded like…yipping? He heard Clyde holler bloody murder, then announce, "_They're Chihuahuas!_" More noise…then Kenny screamed. "OH MY G-D, THEY KILLED CLYDE!"

"YOU SOD-BUGGERING PIG-DOGS!"

"DON'T INDULT THEM PIP, YOU'LL MAKE THEM ANGRIER!"

"AAAAA…"

Christophe heard demonic chanting (what in the word was "rectus dominus" supposed to mean?), and the dark scene behind the sign light up. Sound effects included the roar of fireballs and some yelping. Damian was fighting the dogs off with his Satanic powers. But he still heard barking. There were too many dogs.

Officer Barbrady munched a sub mindlessly as Pip, Damien, and Kenny fought the bloodthirsty Chihuahuas.

Kenny hollered, as two Chihuahuas started playing tug-of-war with him. "F-ck, I don't want to die again, not right before the Dance!"

A tunnel-line in the ground shot forward from the sign, to the school building. The shovel spun up from the ground like a screwdriver, then receded. Chrisophe did a backwards Jedi flip out of the hole and landed in front of Kenny, hacking one of the dogs in half with his shovel. He crossed his other arm under the first and burned the second with his cigarette.

"Take zat, f-cking guard dogs!"

The dog yelped and let go of Kenny, leaving bite marks on his blue shirt. Half his smiley faced tie had been ripped away.

"Christophe!" Kenny hugged him. "But for future reference, don't try any sh-tty lines while you're fighting, just kill them."

All of the dogs were either dead or running away yipping, except one dazed Chihuahua who sat in the middle of the lawn, eyes askew and one ear twitching. A few flames still bit the grass from Damien's ricocheting infernos.

"Well," Pip shrugged. "I suppose we'd best head inside before the adults send some poodles after us."

The boys hurried inside. Bebe screamed when she saw what had become of her date.

"Clyde! No!"

"He'll be back in a week." Kenny called without looking back at her.

"Have some of the punch Bebe," Wendy put her arm around her, Token standing next to her. "It'll make you feel better."

* * *

Outside, the warped Chihuahua stared into space. The oddly crafted cane of Mephisto, the town's mad scientist, came clopping up on the sidewalk. He had been looking for a new animal for his next abomidable creation. The evil genius paused, took a look at the twisted critter. It blinked at him. He grinned, evilly.

* * *

Kevin took one sip of blue punch. His eyebrows reached for the sky. "Oh yah, it's spiked!"

"Um, no it isn't," the serving boy behind the table shifted his eyes, pouring a cup for Shelly.

"Yah right." Shelly said, taking her juice. "_You_ spiked it, didn't you Stu."

"Not only that," Stu snickered quietly, "but me and some of the guys got a hold of that 'Team America' movie! Right after this dance, my house. But only if you bring something with caffeine in it."

"Sweet." It was so nice to be able to say "sweet," instead of "thweet."

Kevin took one last swing. "Wow, I am buzzed now!"

"Then let's dance. I love this song."

The song was "Lucky," by Britney Spears. "Rick James" was now acting as D.J. Shelly and Kevin walked passed the pimply dressed Trent Boyette, Milly and her minions still hanging off him. Trent gave them a glare. Shelly gave him a look back, daring him to say anything. He didn't. She and Kevin left him behind, and they found her friends, Frankie and Sonya.

"Did our revenge ever work out, guys?" Shelly asked Frankie and Sonya (dancing with their dates), as she and Kevin began swaying.

"Good question." Frankie turned to the bleach-haired musician. "What did happen, Sonya? I started watching Adult Swim on Milly's TV after Shelly left."

"It backfired." Sonya shook her head. "Milly's parents found the tape, but they thought it was so funny they raised her allowance."

"Sh-t."

"No sh-t."

"So where's the tape now?" Shelly asked.

"Uh, we don't know," Sonya and Natalie exchanged smirks.

"Oh g-d."

"Hey Chef!" Kenny waved to Chef, in a white disco suit, frizzy fro, and sunglasses. He was working the trippy dance lights.

"Hello there children!"

Dogging the passing-out body of Bebe (punch cup falling from her hand) Kenny and Christophe went to the D.J. to request a song.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Kenny asked "Rick James", writing some song names on the notepad.

"No one stays dead in South Park, man." The D.J. answered coolly.

"You look more like Principal Chappelle." Craig shouted from the stands, where he and Tweek were getting all over each other.

"I'm not Dave Chappelle! I'm Rick James, bitch!"

"Hey! F-ck you!" Craig flipped him off, then returned his attention Tweek.

The singer winked at Kenny.

"Oh," Christophe said awkwardly. "…hello, Gregory."

The British snoot finished writing his request, stood up strait, stuck his hands in his pocket. His eyes flicked down, then climbed back up to Christophe. "Hello, Christophe." He eyed Kenny with a bit of resentment. "New boyfriend?"

Christophe shuffled and nodded. "You find anyone new yet?"

"Well since you dumped me so you could chase that Jewish fellow, it's been a bit hard for me to find another nice European man. So I've settled for African. My date Marvin is over there, by the snack bar."

After meeting Marving ("Hello." "Click, click!") Kenny and Christophe moved away from Christophe's ex and started dancing to some country song he'd never heard before. Something about saving a horse.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kenny saw "Rick James" pull off his wig, momentarily revealing himself as the principal, to tell off Craig and Tweek for acting out the dirty song. Seeing the principal suddenly made Kenny remember what he had to tell his boyfriend.

"Hey Christophe,"

"Hmm?"

"I talked to someone about our lives being sh-t, and he said…you should confront your mom about making your life sh-t. Or something."

"My mother is a fat beetch, Kenny."

"So's Kyle's mom but he still tried to block Terrance and Phillip when she killed them. Do it anyway. Cuz this guy gave me a great example. What if you went to Sesame Street, and you asked Oscar the Grouch…"

The hours passed like the months do during summer vacation. Kevin ended up tumbling down a flight of stairs on the stands, knocking over a wasted Junior who'd been running around the dance floor singing "Magic Carpet Ride" with his punch cup on his head. Shelly laughed her ass off. Artsy had her first slow-dance with an extremely nice guy who'd been rejected twelve times because he had a zit. Wendy and her friends doodled glasses on their unconscious friend Bebe, plus a lightning bolt on her forehead. Shelly gave a swirly to a Senior boy after he smacked her on the butt.

"Frankie, oh my god!" Artsy hollered, grabbing Frankie's green collar. "Look over there! Look there! What do you see?!"

"I see a very wasted Sonya dancing with a white pimp—oh my god! Sonya's dancing with a boy!"

"Disturbing, isn't it." Artsy said quietly.

Frankie silently nodded. (Her boyfriend Han just stared blankly. He didn't know any of these people besides his girlfriend.)

"Kevin," Shelly and him were twirling to 'Time of my life'. "I don't mean this in a bad way, but if you have trouble remembering your own name, how in the hell did you remember that ass-kicking move I taught you when we were twelve?"

"Cuz…you taught it to me."

Shelly let a few verses pass before asking, "For real?"

Again with the little flying hearts.

Sonya spun around suddenly, sending Trent crashing backwards into the punch table. "Oh my god, Shelly and Kevin are kissing!"


	12. The Awe Chapter

**Disclaimer: No, South Park isn't mine. I stole these characters. And I'm doing it again! See? This story will all make sense in the follow-up chapters. Relatively speaking. I mean this is South Park, how much sense can it make, right?**

**Chapter 11: The "Awe" Chapter**

Christophe kissed Kenny goodnight and watched the blond walk home, until he'd vanished into the dark horizon. No, Kenny didn't wear that deadly orange hood anymore, but Christophe was protective all the same. Christophe turned around, sighed, and entered his house.

"CHRISTOPHE! I told you you vere grounded! Go to your room and watch Le Smurfs Christmas Special!"

"Mother, why did you try to kill me with a coat hanger one month before I was born?" Christophe asked her in French.

Her expression softened, and she unfolded her arms. "All right. Sit down, ma petite pomlplemouse."

They sat down on the sofa, underneath the Monty Python movie poster (depicting the French knight drumming his own helmet and a caption of "You Don't Frighten Us English Pigdogs!"), and she poured out the whole disturbing story.

"You see, ven I was very young and was still living in France, I went to visit your Uncle Jean-Luc in Germany—"

"Is zat old geezer still alive?"

"Shut up. While I vas there I vent to a bar, where I met a very nice hermaphadite from America, who'd come to make a German _schizer_ video…"

"Hermaphadite?!"

"I vent with her- him- whatever- back to America and we made love during a crazy drunken barn festival. And I got pregnant. And at first I vas all 'yey, I'm having a baby!' But zen 8 months later I changed my mind and attempted to obtain an abortion. It failed, obviously, and I went to the hospital. It was zen zat ze doctors explained to me zat you actually have to make zese decisions a little bit sooner, apparently. In any case, ze past is past, and I am relieved zat you are here now."

Christophe stared at her.

"Zo…where is zis herma….my father?"

"Not too far, I zink. She-he- whatever, we parted ways after you were born. He/she took your twin brother and we never saw each other after zat."

"_Brother?_"

"Oh dear!" she put a finger to her lip thoughtfully. "I suppose I never mentioned it."

Christophe was rubbing his forehead. "Sweet Jesus."

"Hey!"

"VAT? You zat through two hours of foul language when we rented zat 'Blazing Saddles' film, why do you 'ave to bitch at me ven I take ze Lord's name in vain? Are you just pissed zat you got landed wiz me, and not my smarter, handsomer, more popular brother or somezing?"

She glanced away, changed her expression from big bitch to loving parent, and turned back to her son.

"….I'm sorry Christophe." She pulled him into a hug. And in French, "I love you."

Christophe repeated. "I love you too mozer. You are a gigantic pile of bitch, but I love you."

"Zank you, Christophe. But don't you EVER take ze fucking Lord's name in vain again!"


	13. Wrap Up

**Disclaimer: Hi, I'm Christopher Paolini, author of "Eragon". I did not steal ideas from "South Park", "Star Wars", or "Anchorman". They were just my **_**inspirations.**_** (No, I'm not really Christopher Paolini. I don't own him either.)**

**Chapter 13: Wrap Up**

The sky was the color of dusk-purple construction paper as Uncle Jimbo's truck bounced violently along, and sometimes off, the dirt road. He and his war buddy Ned were taking Stan and his three friends home from a hunting trip.

"Wow Christophe, when those mutant turkeys ambushed us in that ditch, I though we were done for!" Kenny said.

"Yah, so much for the French being surrenderin' p-ssies. You got quite a trigger-finger there, kid!" Uncle Jimbo complimented Christophe as the jeep crushed over a large bump. "Oh crap." Jimbo shouted out his window, "Sorry Officer Barbrady!"

Christophe thanked Kenny for about the 80th time that hour, for making him talk to his mom.

"I know you said that like 80 times already." Kenny rolled up his window. "So, did she say anything…you know…about who your dad was?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Apparently my father is a hermaphadite, and I have a twin brother somewhere in South Park. Zat's why I've been smashing my head against trees and stuff all day. I've been trying to give myself amnesia, so I can forget she ever said zat!"

Kenny's face froze, his dirty-blond hair still whipping in the wind. Stan and Kyle stopped making out, exchanged nervous glances, and slowly sat up.

"Um, Mole," Kyle asked. "Did, did she say anything else about your brother?"

"Just zat he's my fraternal twin and lives with my hermaphadite father…mother….whatever. Why do you ask?"

The other three boys looked at each other, the way your parents did when they were about to tell you where babies really come from. After a minute of awkward silence, Uncle Jimbo realized a private conversation was in order. He turned on some loud country music and asked Ned if he remembered a hunting trip on a volcano.

"You guys, it might just be a coincidence," Stan pushes down on the air with his hands. "I mean I'm sure there's lots of hermaphadites… in this tiny mountain town,"

"Hoh no," Kenny squinted and rubbed his forehead.

"Who is it?" Christophe demanded.

"You wanna know that bad?" Kyle raised his eyebrows.

"Well I didn't care before, but now zat you're making suck a big deal out of it, yes!" Christophe insisted. "I don't care if I'm related to Dick Chaney, just tell me, okay?"

The other boys agreed nonverbally, and Stan sighed. "Hey Uncle Jimbo, can we make a little detour? We need to stop somewhere,"

"Sure Stanley."

* * *

Thunder and lightning clapped over the dark mansion on the hill. The four boys finally finished the climb to the balcony. Stan pounded the gold knocker. South Park's mad scientist, Mephisto, answered.

"Hello. Have you boys come to see the seven-assed wallaby?"

"No, no." Stan said quickly. "We, we have a question…"

* * *

"Thank you for driving us, Shelly."

It was 10:30 in the morning, the next day. Chirstophe was grateful to have been helped by Kenny's brother's girlfriend, who's just received her driver's license—from Office Barbary, unfortunately. Ever since South Park had to resort to him as town driving instructor, pedestrians now screamed not "Old people driving" but "Young people driving!", as they were doing right now.

"No problem, turd." Shelly screeched around a corner traffic light (which was red). Squashed in her dad's old car were herself, her boyfriend, her brother, his boyfriend, her boyfriend's brother, and her boyfriend's brother's boyfriend (Shelly, Kevin, Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Christophe, in other words.)

"There he is!" Kyle pointed. "Stop!"

Shelly slammed on the breaks, making the car's back end do a wheely. "Sorry."

"Zat's okay." Christophe hoped out of the car. "Zis should not take long."

He strolled into the dark alley, and light up another cigarette. He found a nice shadow to look scary and mysterious in, and leaned against the brick wall. He was watching Eric Cartman, picking on some poor cute blond boy.

"You CAN'T leave me Butters!" The fat tyrant hollered. "I won't let you!"

"C-C-Cartmen, we- we can still be friends," Butters begged, "It's just that y-you treat me like crap too much for me to stay with you an-and Powder says I should stop letting you—"

"I don't give a crap what that little hoe Powder says! I'll show you what I think of what Powder says!" Cartman raised a huge fist.

"Hello, Cartman."

Cartman could tell who it was from the accent, before he even turned around to look. "Whadda you want, you British piece of—AY! Butters get back here!"

Butters had darted around the corner.

"Leave him be, Eric." Christophe took out his cigarette and blew some smoke.

Cartman used his fist on Christphe, knocking him to the paved ground. The cigarette bounced off the wall and hissed out of life when it landed in a rain puddle.

Cartman grabbed The Mole by the dark T-shirt. "Why is it whenever ah'm about to have some fun, your Emo little ass has to come in and—"

"Do you zink you hate me now, Cartman?" Christophe smirked and, with effort, kicked Cartman off himself. He rolled into a corner between the wall and a dumpster.

Christophe pushed himself up and drew his shovel from its sheath on his back, pointing it threateningly at Cartman. "At last myself, and Kenny, zat little blond dweeb, and everyone else who you've f—ked over, vill have our revenge! I've been waiting since 9:00 last night to tell you zis, Cartman!"

"Will you just get to the point?" Cartman said, and then called Christophe an ethnic term that's so nasty, I haven't even learned it yet.

"Mephisto never told you vat happened to your father."

"He told me enough!" Cartman spat. "He said ma mamma was a hermaphatite, and she got some other lady pregnant with me!"

"Pregnant wiz US Cartman! _I am your brother!_"

"WHAT?" Cartman's eyes bugged out and, correspondently, his pupils shrank. He grabbed his face with both hands. "You mean I'm—_I'm part British_?!"

Christophe began to correct him, "French—" but the great cow was already running across the street screaming.

"Victims," Christophe quoted his favorite movie, watching Cartman vanish around a corner. "Aren't we all."

Kenny, Stan, Kyle, Kevin, and Shelly watched him go, then looked back at Christophe. They were crossing the street, returning from Tweek's Coffe Shop. Christophe jogged back to the sidewalk to meet them.

"So, how'd it go?" Kenny grinned, throwing his arm around his lover.

Christophe grinned too, wickedly. "I've ruined him!"

He received many a high-5.

"So if you and Cartman are brothers, that means you've got the right to torment him whenever you want!" Kyle said. "And he'll be so busy annoying you, he might not bother any of us anymore!"

Shelly slowly sipped a latte.

"Ohmigad, she IS dating that geek!" a voice from behind them squealed.

Stan cringed. "G-d, it's like fingernails on a chalk board!"

Shelly spit her coffee out and spun around. "What did you say?"

Milly Dolcheimer scoffed, putting her talon-nailed hands on her hips. Lindsey Lowtramp and Paris Hoeton, being her loyal clones, copied her.

"I don't think I was talking to you." Milly tossed her fake blond hair.

"You were talking _about_ us." Shelly approached Milly and folded her arms over her "Buffy!" shirt. "So why don't you leave my boyfriend and me alone, for once. You must have _something_ better to do than say crap about people."

Every able person in South Park who wasn't a parent abandoned his/her store, car, construction job, caffeine fit, street baseball game, makeover, and "Terrance and Phillip" show to circle the teens and chant, "Cat-fight! Cat-fight!"

"You _wanna_ have a catfight?" Milly raised her ot-quite-threatening fists. "Bring it on B-tch! I don't care if I break a nail—I'll just buy new ones!"

With the crowd still chanting, Shelly pinched up some of Milly's hair. She twirled her over her head by it, and send her crashing through the window of a run-down ice-cream truck. Kevin ran up to the truck and kicked it for good measure. It creaked, then somersaulted down into a nearby drain ditch. (Kavin hadn't planned on that.)

A city bus stopped long enough for Artsy, Frankie, and Sonya to roll down their windows and wave their sketchbooks and electric guitar. "GO SHELLY!"

"Is this our last cameo here?" Artsy asked.

"Yah." Frankie said.

"Dang."

The art students hollered their goodbyes as the bus pulled away. Shelly gave them a two-fingered salute.

"So," Lindsey Lowtramp gazed down at the wrecked ice-cream truck. "Like, does this mean I'm the new clique leader until Milly comes back from the dead next week?"

"No way, she said I could!" Paris squealed.

While they batted at each other like sissies, Shelly and Kevin met up in the middle of the street. Kevin gave her a Hollywood smooch, at a 60 degree angle.

"Wmm, this _is_ getting interesting," Officer Barbrady commented, from where he was leaning against a parked semi truck (well duh, where else would he comment from, from where he _wasn't_ leaning?).

Shelly's emerald eyes glared up at him, and she clenched her fist.

"I mean," Barbrady stood up, straightened his hat. "Move along people, there's nothing too see here." The rabble simmered down and began moving along.

"So what should ve do now?" Cristophe asked the other three middle schoolers.

"Let's get the ninja weapons and have a fight at Stark's Pond!" Stan said. "They're in my closet. You can use Cartman's, Christophe!"

"We can fight against Shelly and Kevin!" Kenny added. He threw his head over his shoulder to the two, as he and the boys walked down to Stan's house. "You guys get some dumpsters or something to try and kill us with, we'll meet you at the pond!"

"Mmm hmm, whatever." Kevin answered. He and Shelly finally made it to the ground. They rolled up and down the street, making out.

"I said move along people, there is nothing to see here!"

"_I'm gonna make sweet love ta ya wo-man…_"

THE END

(And if fan fictions had credits, this is the short goofy scene that would play after they were finished.)

Cartman crouched behind his sofa, nervously shoving Cheesy Poofs in his mouth.

"Eric," his mother/father called, "Mamma's going to have some company over. Why don't you go out with your little friends and smoke weed or something…"

Barely hearing her, Cartman reached a hand out weakly and whispered.

"Mephisto, why didn't you tell me?"

**A/N: I apologize for the fact that this fic had no plot. My "Star Trek/Family Guy" story will flow much more smoothly. Well, I hope you all enjoyed the slash and such. Thank you so much for reading, all your reviews made me laugh. You stay classy, San Diego!**


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